


The Thailand Job, Ch 5.5: A Deleted Scene

by S_Faith



Series: Thai Job [1]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 15:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5545337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plot? What plot?<br/>Immediately follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5370326/chapters/12619589">The Thailand Job, Chapter 5</a>; a little bit of text as a prompt/to refresh your memory. Shagathon time!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thailand Job, Ch 5.5: A Deleted Scene

His hands slipped down over her backside, and she made a sound that told him that she might have still felt a little desperate, though in a different way. "Maybe," she said. 

"Maybe what?" he asked, drawing back to meet her eyes again. She looked gorgeous, her cheeks pink, her lips full from their kissing, her eyes shining and determined.

"Maybe I wanted more than to kiss you," she admitted.

"I was hoping you might've," he said. 

_~~begin new text~~_

He then bowed down to kiss her again, this time, just on her neck near her jaw. As he nuzzled there, drawing the lobe between his teeth, pressing the flat of his tongue against the strong pulse in her neck, her head fell back and she sighed. He lavished her throat with lingering, open-mouthed kisses, grazing her skin with his teeth; her breath quickened, as did the pulse under his lips.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulders; she made a sound that somewhat like his name. "Let's… shall we…"

He came to his senses, drawing away from her, standing up straight again. "Of course," he said, bringing his hand own over his face. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She blinked, then slowly smiled. "No need for apologies," she said. "It's just been a while since I've had a snog like that. No," she added at seeing his expression. "This is not a complaint."

Sheepishly, he smiled. Thinking of what she was trying to say, he offered, "I'll call for coffee."

She drew her brows together, confused. "Oh. I think you misunderstand," she said. "We can call for coffee and dessert later. I just prefer we're a bit more comfortable now." 

"Ah," he said, as it sank in what she meant. 

The hotel suites were laid out similarly, or so he guessed as she went towards the door separating the bedroom from the rest of the suite. "Give me a moment," she said. She then slipped into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

At the sound of the door latching, he snapped out of his reverie; he loosened his tie then slipped it off, undid the top two buttons of his shirt, took off his shoes. He looked in the mirror, saw his hair slightly disarrayed where she had drawn her fingers through. With a smile, he smoothed it back down, wondering how long constituted a moment, after all.

His question was answered when the door latch opened again, and the door cracked open a little. She didn't come out, so he took it as his cue to go in. He entered the bedroom to find she had put on a lamp on the far side of the room. She was now sitting on the edge of the bed, her hair down and loose, and she was dressed in the plush cotton terry robe, one much too large for her, that the hotel had provided. 

"I thought I'd better give you a hint, or you might never come in," she said gently.

"I appreciate it," he said, sitting beside her. 

She smiled. "I see you've lost the tie."

He presumed she had lost much more under the robe. He felt a little discombobulated; he hadn't known what she was doing in here, but he didn't expect this. He also felt distinctly overdressed. "Yes," he said, then asked, "You're sure?"

"What?" she asked, then said, "Pardon?"

"About… this."

She stared at him a bit. "I think this is a first for me," she said, amusement tingeing her voice. "Though… I should have expected nothing less." She reached forward to place her hand on his knee. "Yes, Mark. I'm sure. May I?" 

He was about to ask what she meant, but she reached to undo the next button down on his shirt, then the next, until she reached the waistband of his trousers. She glanced up with a smile. He snapped to attention, undoing his belt and the trouser button, tugging the shirt up and out. After a few more buttons, she reached to tug the shirt off, but forgot about his cufflinks, and the sleeves caught on his hands.

"Oh, crikey, sorry," she said, flushing bright red.

"I should be sorry," he said. "After all, I'm well aware I'm wearing cufflinks."

After unfastening them and slipping out of the shirt and vest beneath, he stood then reached out his hands to her to pull her to her feet. He met her gaze, then reached for the tie on the robe.

"I should have—" she began, then stopped. "Never mind."

"Whatever you're thinking, tell me."

"I was just going to slip into the bed," she said. "And you, all fit." Her eyes flicked down to his chest. "I just… I'm _wobbly_."

He smiled. He suspected body insecurity. "I've seen you in a shirt, skirt, and a bra on the outside, and liked it very much. I don't think you need worry about a thing."

He tugged at the robe to no further comment from her; it fell open. He reached up and pushed it from her shoulders, letting it drop to the ground. Her body was rounded and soft, and he reached to place his hands on her hips to draw her closer, confirmed that her skin was like velvet under his fingertips.

"Nothing to worry about, indeed," he murmured, close to her ear.

Before kissing her again, though, he wanted to take care of some unfinished business. He stepped back, reached aside to pull back the sheets. "Climb in or you'll get chilled," he said.

"Doubtful," she said, though did as he suggested. Meanwhile, he slipped out of the trousers, socks, and boxers before joining her in the bed, drawing the sheets and duvet over them, stretching out beside her. 

"I like that," she said. "When you're authoritative."

"Do you," he said, rather than asked, as she leaned back into the pillow.

"Mm-hmm."

She had apparently taken him at his word, for she had not drawn the sheets up to hide herself as she reclined there. He leaned over her and kissed her, his hand coming up to cover her bare breast, running his thumb over the hardening nipple. She groaned into his mouth as he did.

He felt her own hand come up to touch him, her hand running up and down his side before settling on his own backside, her nails trailing on his skin. He caught his breath, escalated the passion in his kiss; they'd barely started, and he was already exceedingly aroused.

And then he remembered one small detail, one that might well ruin the night. He stopped, drew back, looking down towards her. She opened her eyes querulously. "What?" she asked. "What is it?"

"I…" He felt humiliated. "I'm not… I can't."

A quiet panic crept into her voice. "What do you mean?"

"I have one…" he hesitated, then thought it was silly to be euphemistic when he had his hand on her bare breast. "Condom."

"Oh, well, that's all right," she began.

"It's been in my wallet a while," he admitted. "Probably since before I got married."

"Oh. Well. Do they go bad?" she teased, pushing herself up. He turned away from her, as she clambered her way past the sheets and duvet.

He covered his face with his hands. "I'm sorry, Bridget. I'm usually so prepared."

"I'm usually _not_."

His head shot up to see her standing near her things, holding and fishing into her handbag. Her meaning dawned on him. He felt relieved, and a renewed sense of longing for her.

She brought the package back to the bed with her, setting the extra large box on the nightstand, then slipped back into bed beside him, leaving him nearest the nightstand. "There," she said proudly. "It was the only size box that the chemist's had, so don't feel pressured or anything." She placed her hand on his hip, nails grazing on his skin. "Is it a bit cliché to ask, 'Now, where were we?'"

"Not at all," he said, turning back to her. She reclined again, not breaking the gaze. "I believe we were right here."

He leaned forward intending to kiss her, his hand reaching for her breast again, but paused. Instead of kissing her mouth, he decided to lean down and kiss her breast instead.

"Oh," she said as his lips parted, as he pressed his tongue against her, as he pulled the tip lightly through his teeth. "You skipped ahead," she breathed. "Not complaining."

"Good."

He turned his attention to the other breast, his hand on the opposite hip to push her flat against the mattress. He shifted himself, too, so that he was pressed along the length of her. Any ground lost by the possibility of no viable condom was quickly regained, with the heat of her skin against his, and the motion between their bodies.

"Sorry," she gasped, drawing his attention away from her breast. "Should've opened the bloody box."

"Is all right," he said, then resumed kissing her breast, the flat of his tongue against her skin. He then placed a hand on each breast—soft, gorgeous, full—and, with his thumbs on her nipples, he brought them together, then dipped his tongue between them. She took in a quick breath, arching her back up into this kiss; reflexively he thrust his hips against her thigh.

God, did he want her.

"Ohh," she said, turning slightly, her hand playing along the small of his back. "I think you might want to get one now."

Yes, of course he did; he had every intention of being safe with her, appreciated her being the voice of reason. Even more than that, though, it was a signal that she wanted him, too.

Interesting, he thought, that she was not simply lying there, not just expecting him to know what it was she was thinking; she was not shy about speaking up, or about engaging him in their intimacy. It was not quite something he was used to.

His fingers were not quite up to the task of working open the seal gluing the box shut, so she took the box from him and picked it open with her fingernails—"Gel mani saves the day," she murmured—before plucking out a condom from within. "Shall I, then?"

He knew that the merest brush of her fingers against him might bring the round to an early end, so he reached to take the packet from her. "Thank you, no," he said, carefully tearing the packet open, then turned away in order to put it in place. He was grateful that she did not graze her fingers on his skin while he performed this task, else he might not have been able to focus on it.

He turned back to her, to see a slight pout playing on her lips. "Next time, then?"

Her words sent a frisson of delight through him. The thought of a next time…

"Yes," he murmured, then shifted and pinned her against the pillows, and covered her mouth with his own. He moved against her, over her, between her legs, which she spread to accommodate him; she made a soft sound into his mouth when he placed his hand against her inner thigh, then moaned when he brought his fingers up and against her. 

He thought there no point in waiting further; as he thrust forward, he groaned in time with her own cry of pleasure. How good it felt to join with her; how badly he wanted to savour every moment, and to do so he moved slowly though firmly. He was rewarded in his effort by the low, guttural sounds she made, the sharpness of those gel-painted nails pressing into his back, her own hips rising to meet each thrust.

"Faster," she managed. "Oh, God, _harder_." He accommodated her, though felt on the edge of climax; he didn't know how much longer he could continue to do so. 

"I'm sorry, darling," he breathed with a quavering voice into her ear between thrusts, "but I think I'm—"

She interrupted him with a cry and what he could feel was her own orgasm racking her body with shudders. She continued moving with him, sustaining her own pleasure and further hastening his own, until finally, with one last push, he came.

When he was spent, he gathered her into his arms, and pulled her with him as he rolled onto his side. He buried his face into her neck, taking long, slow breaths as he plied her with kisses. That had been so very good—no, better than good. Exceptional.

"Mark," she said quietly. "What did you say there?"

He stopped kissing her, and pulled his head back to meet her gaze. She looked utterly ravished, though a lazy smile played on her lips. "Hm? Say where?" he asked, then recalled his last words to her. "Oh, Lord, I'm—"

"Were you about to… apologise?"

He sighed. "I was."

"For calling me 'darling'?"

"For…" He stopped; admitting for what he had been about to apologise did not seem prudent. "No, not for calling you 'darling'."

She propped herself up on one elbow. "Then for what?" Her mouth then dropped open in a small O before she smiled again. "Oh God," she said; "Were you apologising that you were going to come?"

He felt his face flush red. "I was sorry only in the sense I'd have to stop what I was doing," he explained. "I mean, you seemed to like it so much."

She placed her hand against his cheek then dropped and pecked a kiss on his lips. "You are lovely," she said softly. "I mean, I knew that you were when you brought me all of those things in prison from the chemist's. But this proves it." Then she kissed him again, a light peck, then another, then a longer, lingering kiss before he felt her tongue delicately begin to trace along his lips again.

The longing stirred deep within him again. He would have thought it too soon, but he felt himself up for another round. He wanted her that much.

Then she stopped. "Let's… take care of… you know. First."

She was, of course, correct. Slowly he withdrew from her—no point in protection if it wasn't removed and disposed of properly—as she sat up and reached around him for the condom box on the nightstand. He then remembered she had offered to place the next one.

He heard the rustling of plastic behind him, then the box returned to the nightstand before he felt her hand on his shoulder. Then her lips placing a delicate kiss beside it. He turned back to face her where she knelt on the bed, his eyes fixed upon her bared chest. She began to chuckle a little. "I didn't really put you down as a breast man," she teased, shifting so that she was no longer kneeling, but sitting on one hip.

"They're beautiful," he said before he could stop himself, then flushed in his embarrassment. He had not meant to be quite so honest about his base desires.

Her brow flicked and she smiled. "Glad you think so," she said, then reached to draw her fingers lightly across his own chest. "No slouch yourself," she murmured, to herself more than anything. She met his gaze again as her hand came up to touch his face, and then she leaned towards him to kiss him again in that same delicate and teasing way that was quickly driving him crazy again: lightly on the corner of his mouth, fleeting, then her tongue fleetingly touching on his lips, her teeth grazing them too.

He registered that her hand was against his chest, slipping down to his abdomen, but when her fingers moved down to brush against him, a moan escaped him before he could stop it. She kissed him lightly one more time then said, "Come on," encouraging him back up and properly on the bed to rest against the pillows. She then straddled his legs to sit on his thighs.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "I mean…" As soon as he'd asked, he felt silly. He was not accustomed to women taking the reins, enjoying the act itself and not merely tolerating it for the sake of achieving other means like status, or…. Quickly he put his ex-wife and other partners out of his mind. He was quickly learning he much preferred a lover like Bridget.

She smiled, scooting herself closer to him. "I presume you don't object."

"No, no, no, not at all," he said quickly.

"Goody," she said, then placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned forward to kiss him. She traced her fingers over his upper arms, then down over his chest; she moved to kiss a trail along his jaw, taking his earlobe between her lips, grazing at it with her teeth before placing her mouth to his neck to deliver gentle open-mouthed kisses.

At least, they were gentle at first. The kisses became a little more insistent, her teeth a little harder against his skin, the suction of her mouth a little stronger. So distracted by this was he that when her nails raked against his thigh, then her fingers drew up the length of where he was pressed against her own stomach, he made a sound low in his throat that he hardly recognised as being his own voice.

"You like that," she observed.

"Yes," he managed.

She did it again.

" _Oh_ , yes," he said.

She leaned forward, wrapping an arm around his neck as she covered his mouth again with her own; with the way he was pressed up against her stomach, the way she rhythmically moved as she kissed him, he was quickly reaching the point of climax. He had his arms around her, his hands on her backside; the pressure of his fingers against her skin increased with each movement she made. He groaned into her mouth; she stopped her gyrations.

Without a word she sat up, reached for the packet, and tore it open, and nimbly slipped it over his rather fully-formed arousal. Then she leaned forward, kissing his cheek just by his ear. "There," she whispered, her breath hot as she gingerly touched between his legs, eliciting another groan from him. Then she raised herself up and slowly, almost torturously so, lowered herself down, moaning and arching her back as she did.

Her rhythmic movements began again; he leaned forward and began to nuzzle against her breasts, taking one hard point in his mouth again. She cried out a mild vulgarity as he rolled his tongue against it, raked his teeth over it, keeping the pressure on her backside as she rocked up and down.

She cried out again; he could feel her climax building with the way she tensed around him. "Harder," she said; he knew what she meant, and brought his teeth harder against her skin as he drew back. 

"Oh _god_."

With that, she arched back, clenched her legs around his own; he held her waist to keep her falling backwards, holding her as he continued his thrusting movements upward until he came, too.

"Oh, oh my," she said breathlessly as she sat forward again in order to lean against him, to rest her cheek on his sweat-sheened skin. His heart pounded in his chest; he took in a deep breath to try to calm himself. He leaned and placed a kiss into her hair. He felt her fingers trace against his neck, which was tender to her touch. "Oh, dear."

"What?"

"I'm afraid I've left a mark." Even as she said it, she sounded deeply amused.

He chuckled deep in his throat. "It was worth it," he said, though it did occur to him that he'd hear no end of harassment from Daniel Cleaver the next day.

She reared back to better look at him, traced a fingertip over the furrow between his brows. "What's that for, then?"

He explained what he had just been thinking. She groaned a little, but smiled and said, "He's going to be a rather smug bastard, you know."

"Also worth it," he said.

She smiled, then leaned to kiss him tenderly again.

"Be right back."

Carefully she pulled away from him, then stole the robe back from where it had pooled on the floor earlier and padded over to the en suite. The door mostly closed behind her, but in a moment he could hear the water start to flow. That was when Mark remembered the generous spa-sized bathtub that his room had been equipped with, which Daniel had seemed mystified by. He wondered now if that had been genuine.

He rose, tidied up after their second round of lovemaking, and proceeded towards the sound of the running bath. She sat on its edge, leaning forward to test the water with her hand.

"Washing up?"

She turned to look up at him. "A bit sore, oddly enough. Thought I'd have a soak. Didn't think you'd mind." She sat up straight. "I _was_ going to come for you."

He was sure it was meant innocently, but his mind raced into decidedly other directions. "Here I am."

Her mouth crooked into a smirk, as her eyes flicked down in appreciation. "So you are." She stood up, slipped out of the robe, and hung it on the hook behind the door. He took the opportunity to get into the tub, and when she returned he held out his hand for her to help her to get in.

The tub was large enough for them to sit side by side, but they did not stay seated upright for very long; he leaned back, and she stretched out alongside him, allowing her body to float next to, and then above him. He grasped her waist to keep her from moving too far; to further moor herself she laced her arms around his neck.

"This is nice," she said. "Water's good and hot."

"Mm," he said in agreement; he slipped his hands up and down her skin. For many blissful moments they simply held one another, buoyed by the bathwater around them; skin to skin, his cheek pressed to hers, his arms around her, and hers around him. Her fingers traced lazy circles on his skin; his hands roamed him arcs along her back and arse.

The hot water was not all that was nice, and he sensed she agreed. She pushed back to look at him again. His gaze held hers for a few moments as the steam from the water rolled over their skin; she then pulled herself to him, pressed her lips to his, then kissed him, not just little pecks, but deep, passionate kisses that moved his soul and stirred his desire again.

She then broke away, panting, lifting her lids to meet his eyes again as one of her hands retreated from around his neck, then went down into the water. He could only guess what her target was, and his guess was shortly proven true when he felt her fingers wrap around him; she kissed him again in time for him to groan into her mouth.

_Two can play this game_ , he thought, bringing his hand over her backside to pull her closer within reach, then directed his fingers between her legs. There was a slight pause as he touched her, then a moan as his fingers played over her.

She broke away again, placing her lips against his cheek as she held on tightly around his neck. She stroked him as he did the same to her, his free hand on the small of her back, holding her down. She stopped her ministrations briefly only when his fingers actually drove up into her; she cried out, then continued pumping him with her hand in earnest, her fingers brushing even lower still. With this added stimulus he didn't have time to warn her, and quite unexpectedly he came, stifling his cries with the tender skin of her shoulder.

To make it up to her, he shifted his hand so that his thumb pushed directly into a spot that elicited an immediate reaction, and she threw her head back with a hoarse, shuddering cry as she came, too.

He drew her up against him as she sighed heavily and with obvious pleasure. He couldn't help running his hand over her bottom again. "Perhaps you're not so much a breast man as an arse man," she teased.

"I find I'm quite fond of all of it," he said, then felt his skin flush hot, and not from the steaming water.

"Mmm," she said, bringing her hand up to cup his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. "Quite fond of you, too," she said at last, then kissed the underside of his chin.

They floated in comfortable silence for a little while, the water lapping around them. He realised the water would be cool all too soon, and suggested then that they have a wash-up before returning to the bedroom.

She sat up and sat on his thighs, then reached for the bottle of shower gel that sat beside the tub, flicked the lid open, squeezed out a generous amount into a flannel, and then worked the flannel into a soapy froth. He sat up and held out his hand for the flannel. 

"You first," she said, then slopped the soapy cloth against him, working circles over his chest, neck (being sure to be tender over the sore love bite), shoulders, and arms. He thought it endearing that as she did this, in her concentration, she trapped her lower lip between her teeth.

She then slipped back. "Turn 'round," she said. "I'll get your back."

Once she had attended to scrubbing his back thoroughly, he turned back around. She sat on his lap again, facing him, and she held the flannel out to him. He shook his head, leaned over, and squeezed some shower gel directly into his hands. After lathering the soap, he reached forward to wash her, tracing his fingers lightly over her collarbones, massaging the lightly scented soap over her shoulders. He paid particular attention to her breasts, turning careful, languid circles with his hands, the tips going hard under his touch.

Then his hands skimmed down and under her breast to wash her stomach and sides. "Back," he said in a tone that was slightly more commanding than he had intended.

"Yes, sir," she said with a smirk, turning around so that the pale skin of her back was exposed to him. He portioned out more soap, then began to work his hands over her, massaging her shoulders, tracing a line down her spine. This caused her to shiver. He didn't sense it was from feeling cold.

His fingers slipped forward, grasping her shoulders to persuade her to lie back against him. It didn't take much persuasion. With her head nestled back against him, he reached for the soap one more time. 

"Oh," she said as he brought his soapy hands up to her breasts, working the suds in slow, thorough circles, his fingers playing over the nipples. "What about…" she began, but trailed off; he sensed she didn't really much care about her back at all. "Ohh."

One hand continued attentions on her breast; the other dipped down into the water and between her legs. She gasped, arching her back as he slipped his fingers over her, into her, squirming on his lap, pressing up against him, causing the inevitable reaction.

Within just a few moments she was shuddering with climax; with one hand over her breast and another between her legs he clutched her to him and came, too. 

She fell back against him as his arms fell to his side in the water and let out a long sigh. He too was feeling quite sleepy, content and satiated to the core; he could not recall the last time, if ever, he had ever had sex more than once in an evening, let alone four times.

"I think," he said quietly, "that it's time to—"

He stopped. Return to the bed? Sounded a bit presumptuous. Call it a night? Sounded dismissive. 

"Yes, I—" she began, then was interrupted by a yawn. "—agree."

He let out the water and helped her out of the bath; they stepped under the shower briefly—and, to avoid distraction, separately—to have a final rinse off. He grabbed a large, fluffy white bath towel, dried himself off while she finished up washing her hair in the shower; he then fitted a towel around his waist, picked up a second towel and gingerly wrapped one around her as she stepped out, patting the moisture from her skin.

She beamed a smile up at him; in her bare feet the difference in their heights was much more stark. "Thanks," she said. "Mind if I—"

At the same, he began, "Do you want—"

This caused them both to chuckle a bit self-consciously.

"What I'm trying to say is," Mark said with a bit more confidence in his tone than he felt, "your room's just down the hall, but I'd like it if you wanted to stay."

"I'd like it too," she said, the smile not leaving her face. "Do you mind, though, giving me a moment to…" Her face flushed bright red. "Some things I prefer not to do in front of a—anyone."

The penny dropped. "Of course," he said. "I'll just…" He nodded his head towards the bedroom. "Wait for you in there."

"Okay."

He strode out, closing the en suite door behind himself, then straightened out the covers before folding back a corner. He pulled off the damp towel, laid it upon the arm of the bedside chair (though it pained him to do so) and settled himself into the bed, resting upon the pillows and covering himself with the sheets and duvet. He let out a rather protracted sigh and closed his eyes for what he only meant to be a brief moment, opening them again only to see Bridget sitting upon the bed, one leg folded beneath her, towel still around her and tucked just above her chest. Her damp hair hung tousled down around her shoulders, and she wore a lovely smile, but said nothing.

"What is it?" he said, pushing himself upright.

"Nothing."

"Just… watching me sleep?" he suggested, amused.

"Was trying to wake you with thought vibes," she said.

He chuckled low in his throat, immediately bringing to mind at least one thing that would have been far more effective in waking him. "Come on, it's getting late," he said, patting the mattress beside him.

"Yes, sir," she said teasingly, rising just enough to take off the towel and tossed it on top of his. She shivered, tiny bumps raising all over her skin as she slipped into the bed.

"Come here," he murmured, pulling her to him, tugging the covers up over them, rubbing her arm with his hand to warm her. She wrapped her arm around him and snuggled up to him.

"Oh, you're so nice and warm," she said, snuggling her cheek to his chest. In very short order she was warm too, and he very much liked the feel of her soft skin against him, the faint, pleasant scent of her shampooed hair. He raised his hand and began to run his fingers over her hair. Holding her like this was more than just comfortable; it was as natural as a habit he'd had all his life.

He felt the drowsy pull of sleep wash over him again; her fingers drew idle circles on his side, over his ribs, but it was the feel of her lips just over his heart that drew him back to wakefulness. In return he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, drawing in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, his own fingers tracing an arc over her upper arm.

It was late, but not _that_ late, he supposed.

He brought up his other hand to cup her face tenderly, drawing it up so that he could meet her gaze; his fingers lingered to caress her cheek, to draw a line with his finger pads over her fine brow. Without the liner, mascara, and shadow, which she had washed off in the shower, her eyes seemed somehow even more intensely blue. He realised that he had first seen her, in the prison in Thailand, she had been as free of makeup as she was right now. He had thought her attractive then, but… what a difference, now. Something to be said for a change in circumstances, he pondered, and the rosy afterglow of satisfaction.

"Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, propping herself up a bit to more comfortably meet his gaze.

"Was just thinking how extremely grateful I am," he said quietly, "that I didn't have Security haul Daniel Cleaver out of my office unheard. Would have been the biggest mistake of my life."

"You think _you're_ grateful," she said rather than asked; he knew how grateful she was, but knew with certainty that gratitude was not the reason she was in bed with him that night. She brought her hand to his face again, miming the action he had just taken. "I will never stop wanting to thank you."

No, it was not gratitude that prompted her to lean forward and tenderly start to kiss him again with that light touch that had driven him to distraction earlier that evening; it was just a teasing prelude to more intimacy.

He brought his arm up and around her, returning each kiss with equal lightness and tenderness, pulling her to rest on top of him so that he could run his hands up and down her body; he loved the way she felt, loved to touch her.

As his hands grasped her backside and caressed it gently, as he traced his fingers over the curve and venturing near the spot between her legs, she gasped, "Ohgod."

With an arm around her waist he turned so that she was beneath him, laying her back onto the pillows, kissing her deeply but with just as much reverence. He stroked the skin along her breast, along her navel, hip, and thighs, before his fingers dipped down into her warmth again, stroking gently, then more insistently. She broke away from the kiss to moan, arching up a little. He paused, considering his next action, not wanting to stop but knowing he must; he vowed to schedule his yearly physical as soon as possible, ensure she had one too, because there were things he was suddenly yearning to do with her.

"Ohgod," she said again. "Ohgod, don't stop now."

"Just need…"

"I know, I know," she said, talking over him.

He reached for the box on the nightstand, fished for, unwrapped, and unfurled yet another condom with a quickness that surprised himself, and her too, given the little yelp she uttered when he resumed the kiss, his fingers reaching down again. Slowly, patiently, with gentle but insistent strokes, he pushed himself up and over her, settling between her thighs, then joining with her. She made a sound deep in her throat as he did; after several thrusts, she brought her legs up and hooked them around his waist. This unexpected action changed the angle a bit, spurring him to speed up the cadence of his thrusts, which made her gasp and moan that much louder.

And then, with little warning, she came again, clinging to him as wave after wave overtook her. He carried on driving forward, passion escalating with the sound of her, the feel of her reaching climax, until he came, too, a cry escaping his lips that was a bit louder than he would have liked. He hoped dearly that the neighbouring rooms did not hear.

He stopped, rolling to his side with her in his arms, kissing her passionately again, brushing her hair from her face, then holding her close. "Oh, Bridget," he whispered near her ear, his breath shaky.

She answered only with a long sigh and a kiss to his throat, her nails coming down over his sideburn before her hand rested on his shoulder.

There was nothing to it; he would not be able to resist sleep much longer, so he gently drew away to deal with the protection, then returned to curl up to her. She was suddenly drowsy, too, and curled up to him, and within little time at all, her breathing told him that she had fallen fast to sleep.

He kissed her near her temple, then let himself fall into slumber.

"Good night, darling," he whispered to her before surrendering completely.

………

The shrill ringing of the room's telephone startled Mark from sleep in a rather precipitous fashion. He automatically reached for the receiver, heart pounding from the shock and surprise. "Darcy," he said.

"Darce, Cleaver here," said his friend. Something was odd about his tone. "Hoping you might help. Supposed to have met Bridget for lunch, and she's late. I mean, she's _always_ late, but this is a bit much, even for her. Seen her?"

He glanced at his watch, which he had deposited on the night stand at some point the night before, and to his bafflement it was after noon. He then realised what was odd about his tone: Daniel knew the answer to his question already.

Mark turned to his other side, saw the golden hair peeking out from beneath the duvet and smiled. 

"As I suspected," said Daniel. "Didn't, er, interrupt, did I?"

He sat up in the bed, turning away to muffle his voice, even though the ring of he phone hadn't budged her. "She's sound asleep," Mark said.

"Late night. Right. Carry on. See you for dinner, perhaps?"

"Goodbye, Daniel," he said with a chuckle, then put down the phone.

He yawned and stretched, rising from the bed, donning his boxers, then heading for the en suite. He closed the door behind himself, relieved himself, then turned to the sink and switched on the taps, first washing his hands, then splashing his face with cooler water. He only got a good look at himself upon standing upright again, and what he saw both mortified and pleased him: the patch of skin on his neck upon which she had lavished such attention had gone lividly red. He ran his fingers over it; it was still tender. His only hope was that it was low enough on his neck that his shirt collar would hide it. Otherwise, he would probably never hear the end of it from Daniel.

He also realised that he was due for a shave, and reached for his shaving kit; as he did, he heard stirrings out in the bedroom, so decided to investigate. What he saw surprised him. Bridget was slipping into her clothing again in a rather urgent fashion.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Just saw the time," she said. "I'm bloody late to meet Daniel. Oh God."

"No, you're not."

She turned to him, clad in her pants and bra. Her silk blouse was half-buttoned, and buttoned crookedly, at that; her hair was best termed 'mad', having gone to sleep with it wet from the shower. He thought she looked adorable, especially paired with the expression that suggested that she thought he, too, was mad. "Yes, I am."

"He rang looking for you. He said he hoped he'd see us for dinner."

"He… he did? I didn't hear it."

He chuckled. "I know."

"Oh," she said, then brought her hands up to smooth down her hair. "Oh God. I must look a fright."

"Nonsense," Mark said. He strode up to her, undid the wonky buttons, then did them up properly. "I don't know about you," he said, "but I could use a hearty lunch." He then looked up and met her gaze.

She seemed to guess that he was not, in fact, dismissing her from his presence. She smiled. "I'll just… put my skirt on then and…" She nodded towards the door. "Go and get ready in my own room."

"Okay," he said, though could not resist pulling her to him for a kiss. "I'll come over when I'm done."

"Okay," she repeated softly, gazing up at him. God, he could get lost in her eyes.

She drew away, though, slipped into her skirt and her shoes, gathered up her jacket, hose and pocketbook, then pecked a kiss on his lips and slipped out of the room.

He returned to the en suite to resume his shave. When he glanced up to the mirror, he was surprised to see a smile lingering on his face. Little wonder, though he was sure that too would garner commentary from not only Daniel, but others. He wasn't used to feeling this way. Contented, happy, looking forward to seeing her again, spending more time together.

_Yes_ , he thought. He could bear the commentary well enough; it was a price he was elated to pay.

Shaved, groomed, and fully dressed—including shirt buttoned to the top, which just covered the love bite, to his relief—he went to pull the duvet over the pillows (habits died hard—housekeeping would be there soon anyway). As he did, he felt his toe strike against something solid. He bent down to feel for what it was, and found the barrette that had been in Bridget's hair. He smiled as he picked it up and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He then fetched his wallet and his room key, and left for her suite.

He rapped on the door. "It's me. Mark."

"One minute!" she called. A crash and a thump then stomping towards the door, which then swung open. She looked sheepish. She had dressed into new clothes—another top and skirt, much less television-presenter formal, still-bare legs—but otherwise she looked little different than she had when she'd left him. "Sorry," she said. "I'm not quite ready." Then she noticed his suit jacket and dress shirt. "You look nice. Bit dressed up, compared to me, though. Maybe undo the top button?"

He shook his head, pointing to his neck.

"Oh," she said, getting his meaning. She blushed a little, then smiled. "Hope it's not too bad."

"Daniel's certain to comment," he said.

"Hence the shirt."

"Yes." He dug into his pocket. "Found this on the floor."

"Oh, sorry," she said, taking it from him. "I would have missed it, eventually." She hooked a thumb towards her own en suite. "If you give me a moment, I'll just… put on a bit of face powder, brush my hair."

"All right," he said.

He sat on the bed; he watched through the crack in the door as she pulled a brush through her unruly hair, ran the brush under the tap, then brushed again. It flattened down only minimally. She sighed heavily. "I swear, it's got a mind of its own," she said, more to herself than to him.

"Much like you," he said with a smile. She glanced towards him, but she too was smiling.

She put the barrette to work to tame her hair a bit, then brushed some face powder over her forehead, nose, cheeks and chin. She came out and looked to him. "Don't look too disreputable, do I?"

He stood up. "You look gorgeous."

She pursed her lips. "I think maybe you're a bit biased, but I'll just have to believe you," she said. "Thank you." She slipped into her sandals. "Shall we, then? I am suddenly famished."

As they left the room, walked down towards the lift, his hand hovered just at her waist, then settled on her hip as they stood waiting. He started to brush his thumb back and forth when she turned to look at him. "Stop that," she said. He withdrew his hand, feeling a bit hurt. "Sorry," she said immediately, then dropped her voice down to a whisper. "I only mean… well, you're making me wish we had ordered in."

He met her gaze; for a moment he seriously considered taking her by the hand and tugging her back towards one of their suites. Fortunately, his head overrode his heart (or, if he were to be perfectly honest, his libido) and they went to the hotel restaurant. 

They were technically rather late for lunch, but being a hotel restaurant they were used to folks turning up at odd hours for meals. They were also wonderfully diverse with the types of meals they served. He got his hearty lunch—roasted chicken and new potatoes—while she ordered pasta. They split a bottle of wine and had a wonderful time talking. More than once his hand reached to cover hers; he would start to brush his fingers over her skin before remembering her admonishment by the lift, and would stop. Each time he did this, though, he saw a smile flicker across her face.

"Another day in this city before we move on," she said, this time, placing her hand on top of his. "Is there anything else you wanted to do while we're here? We could have a walk along the Aare…"

"Then dinner later with Daniel," he reminded.

"Right." 

He turned his hand over to better clasp hers, their gazes still connected. "Not really," he said. "No." 

She smiled a little. "Okay," she said. "This is supposed to be your holiday, after all."

He cleared his throat, suddenly nervous to ask what he wanted to ask. "I had a thought," he said.

"Your thoughts are often quite good," she said.

"Glad you feel that way," he said. "How do you feel about… consolidating?"

"About what?"

"If we're going to, um, _continue_ —and I very much want to—it seems a bit, well, silly to have two suites."

She giggled. "Oh," she said. "Yes, I think that'd be wholly acceptable."

After lunch they dropped by the front desk to explain they'd need one fewer room, choosing his suite over hers thanks to the view and the large bath, before returning to get her things. While she packed up her suitcase, he sent a message to Daniel, too, briefly and idly wondering how Daniel was spending his day.

_B. checked out of suite to stay in mine tonight & next before going to Lausanne. _

He got an immediate reply. _Well, that escalated quickly._

Mark chuckled quietly, before a second message came back from Daniel:

_Will let Tess know to change accommodations for rest of trip._

_Thank you_ , Mark replied, then added, _Just being practical._

_Would expect nothing less._ After a moment, there was an indication that there was more typing. Then: _Really very pleased for you both. And happy to take full credit for the match._

"What are you doing?"

He looked up from his mobile. She stood there with a sponge bag in hand.

"Was just bringing Daniel up to speed on our accommodation change," he said, tucking his mobile into his jacket pocket. "All set?"

"Just about," she said. "Would you do favour for me? Would you look around and make sure I didn't leave anything behind?"

"Of course," he said.

As she stuffed the sponge bag into the smaller of two bags, he walked around the bed, then bent to look underneath, finding a sock; in the loo, he found what was obviously a case with glasses in it lurking beneath a crumpled hand towel, as well as a scrap of pink silky fabric he quickly determined to be a pair of pants. Upon presenting to her everything he'd found, she flushed bright red, then snatched them out of his hand.

"There's really nothing to be embarrassed about," he said. 

"They're huge," she said.

"So? Have you seen the size of my boxers?" he asked, trying to make her feel better. "Come on. Pack these into your bag, and we can return to my room." He amended: " _Our_ room."

This made her smile again. 

With the room totally packed up and cleaned out, they went across and down the hall; he drew out his key card and swiped them in. For a brief moment, he wondered whether things hadn't moved too quickly, too soon, but then he thought about all of the time they had spent together, everything they had been through together, and shook away his doubts. They were holidaying together, now sleeping together. There was no reason they shouldn't share a room.

_Not like we're moving in together, for goodness' sake_ , he thought.

He was drawn from his thoughts by the feel of her hand across his shoulder. "Figure that we have three hours, at least, before we're to meet Daniel," she said, a huskiness to her voice that he recognised immediately. He turned to face her, wondering what his own expression was doing, for she responded by grasping his lapels, getting up on her toes, and pouncing on him with a kiss.

He responded by placing his hands on her waist and pulling her sharply against him, eliciting a low, breathless sound from her. He then brought his hands down over her backside, something he had grown fond of doing, something he had quickly learnt she liked very much. 

She gasped his name as he pressed his fingers into her arse, as she slipped her arms up and around his neck. He then brought his hands down, hiked the short skirt up, until he could traverse the lower edge of her pants.

"Ohgod," she panted as he parted her legs and teased her with his fingers. As he stroked insistently, as he drove further up, she arched into him then came suddenly, taking him slightly aback.

She fell limp in his arms, clinging to him around his neck, kissing him again. "I guess I really needed that," she said, sounding almost embarrassed.

"Guess so," he said. "Happy to oblige." He glanced up, could see the bed in the other part of the suite, could see that housekeeping had been by given the state of the duvet. The bed seemed really far away. "Come on, darling," he said quietly. "Let's go in there." She found her feet, and he led her towards the bed.

He set her down then pulled off his jacket. He had begun to unbutton his shirt, and she grabbed the waist of his trousers and undid the belt, then the button and the zip. He initially thought she was just helping him to disrobe, but then, as she pushed his trousers down over his hips, she said, "Know what I'd like to do to repay you for that?"

He stopped undoing his cuffs at this very leading question. "What?"

She slipped her fingers under the waistband of his boxers, leant forward to place a kiss just under his navel… then felt the tip of her tongue touch to his skin. Then the flat. He groaned. It was all too clear what her intent was.

She then tugged the boxers down carefully, looking at him, then glancing up to meet his eye.

"You don't have—" he began; previous partners had seemed to find this distasteful, so he assumed women in general did it because they felt obligated.

"I know," she interrupted, stroking him with her fingers. "But I want to. I'll be safe about it." She smiled. "Maybe, though… you should sit down. First step in being safe is you not collapsing over onto me."

Feeling somewhat in a daze, he sat back against the pillows and she knelt between his legs before she leant over. He thought he might come at the very feel of her lips on him, but only groaned instead, bucking involuntarily up as her tongue swirled around the tip of him. Then the feel of her mouth taking him in, the pressure of her lips encircling him as she moved up and down along the length. He groaned as she did it again, as he bucked up again, as she swirled her tongue again.

He tried to convey to her that he would not be able to contain himself much longer, but she seemed to sense he was on the verge, so she drew away. She leaned over (he felt the bed shift) then pulled open a condom packet, sheathed him, then straddled his hips, leaning over him.

"Sometime soon," she whispered, "I can finish that the right way." 

Then she shifted and he felt her begin to envelop him; she had clearly shed her pants as they did not interfere in this motion in any way. She groaned, and so did he, grasping her hips, pulling her firmly down.

"Ohh," she said.

He pushed himself upward, then forward so that she was beneath him, and with an abandon he had not felt in some time, began thrusting wildly and forcefully into her. She cried out, and so did he; it did not take long before his release triggered. He cried out a bit too loudly again until he was spent. He was pleased to realise that she, too, had come again.

"God, that was _good_ ," she murmured as he nuzzled into her neck, kissing and biting the skin of her throat gently, playfully, as if mimicking the love bite she had given to him.

"Mmm," he agreed, before falling to the pillow, his arm lying across her. He chuckled, realising she still had on her shirt and skirt, and he, his dress shirt, albeit unbuttoned. They hadn't even gone under the duvet. When she asked what he found so amusing, he explained.

"It's like we haven't slept together in months," she supplied. "Or are having an illicit affair." She reached over to comb her fingers into his hair. "Feel like there's a little time to make up for."

He didn't quite understand what she meant. "Hmm?"

"Well…" She suddenly seemed shy. "Confession time. I've fancied you since before we even left Thailand. But, you know, you were my lawyer…"

He raised a brow. "Did you now."

"Mm-hm," she confirmed. "You were so kind, and capable, and smart… and _bloody_ handsome."

"Confession time for me, too," he said. "I didn't realise it at the time, but from the moment I came into the cell and saw you singing with the other women… I was very, very attracted to you." He smiled a little. "The Wonderbra on the outside of your shirt helped with that. But I had a job to do, you were my client, and I couldn't let my feelings distract me."

"I have no complaints about services rendered." As if suddenly realising the second, smutty interpretation, she blushed. "You know what I mean."

He laughed, not at her, but with genuine amusement, filling his heart with happiness. It felt wonderful, and she was very good at doing it. He had wondered, very briefly, whether what they had right now was just propped up by the holiday they were sharing, but he knew now that he wanted nothing more than to keep this joy in his life. She was a bright spot in an otherwise grey, monotonous existence. He could only be better for it. He still wondered, though, what was in it for her.

"You know," she said, "we should probably take off the rest of these clothes. As it is, it looks like we've been through a tumble dry cycle."

He smiled again. "You have a point."

They rose and each shed the remaining clothing they wore, but she ducked into the en suite to do so; she seemed far less keen for him to see her now without her clothes on. Perhaps she felt more self-conscious in the bright daylight; he'd assure her if it came up, otherwise he would simply reassure her in non-verbal ways. He folded his boxers, his trousers and his shirt in the hopes that some of the wrinkles would flatten out before he dressed again for dinner. He tugged down the duvet and the sheets, too. 

"What… what's that?" she said, coming out of the en suite looking quite amused. She had donned the robe she'd brought from her own room.

"What's what?"

"Did you… did you _fold_ your underpants?"

"Well, yes," he said, bristling a bit. 

"Do you always?"

"Of course. Otherwise they don't lie flat under my trousers." 

She laughed a little. Then she began to laugh so hard she literally could not breathe, falling over sideways on the bed, tears flowing out of her eyes. "Sorry—" she gasped. "Sorry, it's just…" Then she lost it again.

He felt his jaw tense.

"I'm so sorry to laugh, but it…" More breathless, teary laughter. She sat up again, scooting closer to him, seemingly forgetting the body shyness from a few moments earlier; her robe gaped open, showcasing her ample assets. "…it's just utterly ludicrous. I mean, I see your reason for it. But it's so _silly_ , when you think about it."

"Do you not fold yours?"

"Hardly a point to it," she said.

He took in a breath—and allowed himself a smile. It was silly, after all. He sat on the bed beside her. "Well, yours seem to just be tiny bits of silky fabric, anyway."

"Except maybe the pink ones," she said sheepishly.

"Except maybe those," he said. "None of them hardly seem capable of wrinkling."

She smiled, then turned to him, placed her hand on his shoulder, met his gaze. "Thought maybe I'd stepped in it there," she admitted. "After less than a day."

"Hardly a chuck-worthy offense," he said. He pulled the collar of the robe further aside, then drew his fingers down over her breast. He cupped it with his palm, then ran his thumb over the hardening tip. "Forget about it."

"Yes," she said. "Good point. Not—not important."

With his free hand he undid the sash at her waist, leant down to place a kiss on her cheek then nuzzle into her throat. "Nothing you need to hide," he murmured into her ear, then slipped his arm around her waist, savouring the feel of her soft skin.

He worked the robe down and over her shoulders until she was naked again. He then tossed it aside. She pushed herself back to the pillows. He settled in next to her, and wasted no time at all placing his hands upon her skin once more. He kissed her deeply, thoroughly; as her fingers raked up and down his side, his arousal grew ever faster.

He turned his attention then to her breast, kissing it, pulling the tip through his teeth, running his tongue around in slow, deliberate circles. He then did the same on the other. She arched up, moaning his name, as he trailed a line of kisses to her navel.

She made a soft sound as he did. "It's time," she gasped. "Time for…"

He knew what she meant.

He stopped for protection, and then picked up where he'd left off. Turning, settling between her legs, he bowed down over her. She brought her hands up and around her back, hooked her legs around his waist, and met his gaze as he drove forward and into her.

At this first thrust, she cried out quite loudly, then again on the second and third; he covered her mouth with his own to capture the sound, then picked up his pace, thrusting hard at that advantageous angle.

He wasn't sure he would outlast her; he began to shudder, feeling the climax approaching. He drove one hand between them, brushing his thumb against where their bodies joined. With a loud squeal into his mouth, he continued pressure there until he felt her come… and then allowed himself to come too.

Some moments later he realised he had settled in beside her, holding her close; she peppered his face and throat with delicate kisses, combed through his hair and sideburns with trembling fingers.

"Very good," she whispered. " _Very_ good, indeed."

He agreed, though his words didn't come out quite coherently. 

She could only giggle and peck him on the lips again.

After a few hazy moments in bliss cuddled up to her, the telephone began to ring. He pushed himself up and reached for the receiver.

"Darcy," he said by way of greeting, clearing his throat midway through his own surname.

"By my reckoning," said the voice on the other end, "you've had more sex in the last twenty-four hours than in your entire life. And I know I'm not interrupting anything now, because I just heard that amazing crescendo." It was, of course, Daniel Cleaver. Mark felt his skin flush with embarrassment. "No, no, don't say anything, mate; I'm glad for you both. Just wanted to wedge in at an opportune moment to say I've rung for dinner reservations in precisely three-quarters of an hour, so you can budget your time accordingly."

"Thank you," he said tersely. She drew her brows together. "We'll see you then." He then reached to put down the phone. "I hadn't quite realised Daniel was next door. And he knew exactly when to call to tell us he made reservations for an hour from now."

"He—" she began, then, "Ohhhh my God. I'll never be able to look him in the eye again."

Mark pulled her close, chuckling low in his throat despite his humiliation. "He's happy for us," he said. "I'll take this opportunity for one more kiss before we make ourselves presentable for dinner."

"I think that's a fabulous idea," she murmured, then reached up to lavish a lovely, long kiss on his lips before she drew back. "Before we get ourselves worked up again."

He calculated the time remaining before the dinner reservations, and realised that they probably should get up and out of the bed. "Yes," he said. He stroked her face, her throat, her shoulder, her breast, her side and hip one last time before drawing carefully away from her.

"Promise we'll pick this up again after dinner," she said.

He thought of Daniel's comment… and thought Daniel probably was not too far off the mark. "Oh. I promise."

_The end._


End file.
